


Game to Nowhere

by EmilyFairy



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Angst, Kissing, M/M, New Whose Line, Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 05:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyFairy/pseuds/EmilyFairy
Summary: And I think to myself how ridiculous it all is, two guys pushing sixty, still stuck dancing around our feelings, never quite acknowledging them outside of the world we've created here. Your hair is mostly gray now, what's left of mine is white, and our bodies are decaying by the decade. So how long are we going to do this, play this little game to nowhere?





	Game to Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> My first Whose Line fic in years. :) I will be posting my old stories too, but I wanted to start with something new.

It always goes the same way. You hover in the doorway of my dressing room, hands splayed across the top of the doorframe as you loom over me with blinking green eyes, asking me for permission. Then it's my turn to sigh and shake my head in mock exasperation and beckon you inside. You hesitate for a moment before ducking through and easing the door shut behind you. 

This dressing room is barely big enough for me as it is, and your arms keep colliding with mine, but somehow I don't mind your touch. I never have, even though I may pretend otherwise. Because it's all part of the Ryan-and-Colin game we've cobbled together over the years... something that's just ours, that no one else will ever understand. But we understand, and that's all that matters. 

The next part of the game is when you wrap your arms around my waist, pulling me against you. It's the last taping of the season, and this is how we say goodbye. I smile at you and cock my head in a silent question mark as I slide my arms around your neck, looking up at you. You smirk at me for a moment before your eyes soften, and your real smile comes out from wherever you keep it hidden, like the sun peeking from behind a cloud. 

Your smile shines bright into mine, lighting me up, and then one of your hands inches up to the top of my head. You stroke my bald spot as you stare steadily at me, and I pull you even closer, wrapping you into a tight hug. My fingers find your nose and tweak it, and you let out a puff of laughter against my shoulder, which is enough to set me off. We laugh for longer than we should, heads bent together as we hold each other in this cramped little room like we don't want to let go. 

Your laugh is one of the things I love most about you, you know. It's deep and rumbly, like a lion's laugh, and I crave it like nothing else. No one else can take you out with a single word, making you curl with laughter until you're gasping for air, the way I can. I like that I have that kind of power over you, although I do try my best not to abuse it... too much. 

Our laughter finally starts to die out, and I bury my face into your chest for a moment, breathing you in. You're still in that bright blue shirt from wardrobe, but I can faintly pick up your scent underneath it, cigarettes and saltwater. You always smell like _Vancouver_ to me, and for a moment my heart aches for the kids we used to be, nearly 40 years ago. And I wish for the thousandth time that I was the one who met you first, and not her... 

I pull back to look at you, and you grin down at me, still chuckling a bit. I raise myself up and kiss your nose, letting you know there are no hard feelings between us. You duck your head a bit to brush a kiss right across the top of my bald head, one of your hands stroking my back, and I know that there's nothing to forgive. 

"Love you, Col," you whisper into my ear, and your jagged breathing is the only sign you give that this means so much more to you than you'll ever say. 

"Love you, too, Ry," I say, my voice quavering against your neck. 

We clutch each other, and it's never enough, this game we play. It's never enough, even though it has to be, because the game is all that's left of us these days. And it's real, but at the same time it isn't. It's stolen touches and longing glances mixed with half-serious stage kisses and unspoken words. It's lingering hugs and shared laughter to mask the pain of regret. This regret has overshadowed us ever since Vancouver, when we should have said what was really in our hearts, instead of letting our fears get the best of us. 

And I wonder to myself why it's so easy to break you on stage but it's so difficult to reach you when we're off of it. 

You're in front of me right now, but you might as well be miles away, because your face is once again hardening into that unreadable mask. I can feel you stiffening against me, like you want to pull away. Because the game is over now, and it's time to get back to reality.

Usually I let you go, even though it feels like something is stabbing the walls of my heart. Usually you turn away just a moment too late for me to miss the pain lurking in your eyes. Usually you walk away without a backwards glance, and I don't see or hear from you again until next season. Usually your absence tears away at me a little at a time, like when _Whose Line_ ended the first time, and I barely heard from you for years... 

And I think to myself how ridiculous it all is, two guys pushing sixty, still stuck dancing around our feelings, never quite acknowledging them outside of the world we've created here. Your hair is mostly gray now, what's left of mine is white, and our bodies are decaying by the decade. So how long are we going to do this, play this little game to nowhere? 

With a pounding heart I grip your shoulder before you can get away. Your eyebrows furrow at me, and I know you're confused about me going offscript like this. But I don't care right now, because this needs to happen, before it's too late. 

"Col, what the hell...?" you say as I tug you out of the dressing room and back down the hall. 

I ignore your grumblings, keeping my head down while the old determination to do something awesome lights up a fire inside of me. It's a fire I haven't quite felt in years, and I allow that almost maniacal energy to overtake me, lowering my inhibitions.

Onstage, I can do anything and get away with it. Onstage, you trust me, and I trust you, completely. Onstage, I have never felt more real. Onstage, I am invincible. 

As we step onto the empty soundstage all of your protests die away, and I see understanding coming into your eyes. You let me lead you towards stage left, next to the piano. About midway down I stop and position us both, you along the edge of stage left, me standing right in front of you, a bit more towards the center. 

I sway on the balls of my feet, the energy crackling through me while I study your face. The last time we stood in this spot, your hair was still golden, and your eyes weren't nearly as crinkled, but in the dim light I can almost picture you the way you were, the way _we_ were, 20 years ago... 

"Why are we here?" you ask in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Why, Ryan," I say with an innocence I didn't know I still had. "Don't you remember that this is where we had our first kiss?" 

Your eyes slide over to mine, and I can see the wheels starting to turn, but before they have a chance to fully kick into gear I grab your ass and pull you against me. You stumble into my arms and then gasp as the realization dawns in your eyes. 

I kiss you, and it's both familiar and strange, soft and hard, sweet and dark all at the same time, just like you. Kissing you like this is like nothing and everything I've ever imagined. My head starts to swoop into my stomach as your lips part beneath me, and when your tongue brushes against mine it's all I can do to keep myself upright. A broken whimper escapes from your throat, I'm mewling like a desperate kitten, my hands are now melded against your ass, yours are tangling into what's left of my hair, and oh, _Ryan_ , you're just so _good_ like this, I can't even... 

And when I finally ease myself away from you I realize that after all of these years I've discovered a new way to break you. Your eyes are glazed, your chest is heaving, and you're generally looking like you don't know what the hell just hit you. I adore you like that, this unfathomable giant of a man, lips still swollen from my kiss, laid asunder because of me. For a moment I allow myself to just stand back and watch you, a satisfied smile on my face as I survey the absolute destruction that I have wrought upon you. 

And when you can finally speak again all you can say is, " _Fuck_ , Col. What-- what was that?"

"I'm changing the game," I say with a shrug, stepping away. 

At the edge of the stage I pause, throwing a look over my shoulder in silent invitation. Your delighted laugh follows me as I scamper through the halls, your footsteps echoing behind me. 

And for the first time in years neither one of us knows what's coming next.


End file.
